"Don't mind me if I burst."

Sometimes it is exhausting, all this caring business. Sometimes I wish I didn't care for anything at all. Sometimes I wish that I could be content as a lonely, griping old miser. When I say 'sometimes', I might mean 'all the time'. In the hardest parts of my heart I want nothing to do with problems because I, frankly, just don't like them, and want them to go away.

I also wish, to a certain extent, that I could be the one that makes those problems go away. Sometimes, I think, that by acknowledging the problem and attempting to solve the problem actually makes the problem worse. Godforbid I make anyone's problems worse- that would be unbearable.

And yet, I am no prophetess. Just as we cannot estimate the strength, and therefore damage, of a typhoon, so we cannot estimate the sort and amount of help that will come to those in greatest need.

I have no immediate family that was affected by the typhoon, and I've been a first-world citizen since birth. You know, I shouldn't care...but, I do.

Sometimes it is exhausting, all this caring business. Sometimes I wish I didn't care for anything at all. Sometimes I wish that I could be content as a lonely, griping old miser. But if I am to learn anything from trite hollers of "YOLO" and "Love life" and "Just do it"- just because we trivialize the profound does not make the profound any less profound- obviously the profound is accessible to any person: first-world, second-world, third-world, 3/4-world; Mars.

So, I will care as much as I can, and then attempt to care more.

Don't mind me if I burst.

That's what supposed to happen when you care.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."- from C.S. Lewis' The Four Loves (I'm pretty sure I quote this all the time.)

“So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition of conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” –Philippians 2.1-11 

Here's some of the disaster, compliments of Al Jazeera.

And, how to help? Well, this link is a great list of NGOs, compliments of the Huffington Post, or seriously, just Google it :P Maybe even start your own fundraiser, yeah?

God bless your endeavors.

What We Seek.

Social justice interests me for one main reason: every social justice cause simply seeks acceptance and care; to add to that, love. 

Active or inactive in social justice, do not all people seek acceptance, care, and love? When you have heart-to-hearts with loved ones, or even strangers, they're always so afraid of rejection, because who wants to be turned away for who they think they are, or for who they might be, or for the way they get to who they are to be? 

While I have often tried to stray away from labels, I find that I am always affected by them, as if the avoidance of labels actually brings on the labels...indeed, I find that is always the case, but does that say something about the labels? No, not the "if you can't beat them, join them" mentality, but that labels, however used or misused, are still just words? We have power over words, once it goes the other way around we're afraid to talk for fear of offending someone we'll probably never talk to, or see, again. 

None of this is to say I altogether throw out discretion or politeness, but, really: do we need to take things so personally? I thought we wanted to be in control of ourselves- in control of the labels, the compliments, the criticisms; etc. 

Then you can imagine my delight when I came upon this short article: How To Tell If You're A Feminist In Two Easy Steps. Is that all? However comedic this article's intentions, how many reasons do you need to be a good person in general whether or not you label yourself 'feminist', or whatever label to which you wholeheartedly subscribe, or adamantly avoid. 

A world without acceptance, care, and love is a world that seeks justice. Truly, I can't hate any person for seeking that. I can only hope to be of some service to them. 

ALSO! Happy Month of Mozart! Listen to WQXR on the radio or online. 

An Oppressive Reality

Do you know, I always hear about how poorly treated are Christians in the US. I'm not saying that mistreatment cannot happen in the US, but I wonder- are the stories I hear, or the news I read only a small percentage of what really goes on? What's the other percentage?




When I was younger I was, obviously, a picky eater, so my parents would tell me, "Tine, there are children starving in Africa- eat your food." In my head, I would respond, "Well, then send it to them." What my parents were trying to tell me is to be grateful for the food set before me, I only know that now.

Lately, I've been reading and learning that there is a food shortage right here in this, my adopted homeland of the US. No, I haven't discerned which information is propaganda and which is factual, but whether exaggerated or otherwise, there are those who starve here in the US. To imagine that every US citizen is well-fed is to be disillusioned. Social-economic problems are not reserved for second and third world countries, because of this, though first world countries have the ability, perhaps even the responsibility of helping those weaker than themselves this gives the illusion that somehow those who are helped must be weaker than those who give help: this is perfectly fallacious.

Since problems do not choose a type of person, persons; state, country, nation; era, I have to know, believe and understand that problems can and will arise everywhere- anywhere.

I do not doubt that people starve anywhere and everywhere (willing and unwilling starvation).

I do not doubt that Christians are poorly treated even in this religiously-free country, but I do doubt the extent to which Christians are poorly treated. I sometimes wonder if this poor treatment is unwittingly self-inflicted.

I cannot tell you how many sermons I've heard about the oppression of the Christian faith in even a small town coffee shop; how many articles I read about pastors wrongly imprisoned for sharing the Gospel.

I am well aware that Christ said if they persecuted him how much more so will his followers be persecuted, and yet, how much we do tolerate in this country. Some (left or right winged, or middle, or none) say we tolerate too much, forgetting that they themselves are a part of those tolerated.

But like the 'starving children in Africa' analogy to my younger picky-eater years, the fear of embarrassment for sharing your faith solicitously in a small town coffee shop cannot be compared to persecution of Christians that occurs elsewhere in the world. (And if you misunderstand the former comparison, let me clarify: 'starving children in Africa' can hardly be compared to a middle-class child's refusal to eat meals; however an attempt to teach gratefulness.)

Honestly, who doesn't get teased for being too smart, too tall, too freckly, too pale, too quiet, too loud, too girly, too boyish, too weak, too strong? We tell every child that teasing is just going to happen, but what matters is not what others think (because they're not thinking in the first place) but what you think of yourself, and how you choose to live your own life. We do not judge others because they can't be judged--we do not judge others because we, too, are to be judged.

What poor treatment is teasing for my faith? Is that really the least I can suffer for my faith? That's not really suffering- I just need to get over my insecurities. Much more insecurities than persecutions!

We ought to be more careful of the words we choose to describe our individual pains.

A sudden empathy...

The other day, I found my copy of the Bible, don't ask me where I found it, but I finally found it, and took to reading it. If you recall from my last blog I moaned and groaned about reading Proverbs and Isaiah like the ridiculous child that I am, when it occurred to me (oddly enough, while reading the Proverbs) that perhaps the reason why Proverbs sounds and looks so slapdash-ed-ly put together is that Solomon, wise as he was, had these sudden bursts of wisdom occur to him at the moment, and jotted them down, much like any person, full of wisdom or witless, today would suddenly be struck with a thought which he would have to write down, never later deciding to expand upon that thought. Some thoughts are better left un-expanded; better left as purpose-less poetry :P

note: not poetry without purpose, but without a fluid theme. ya get me?

Perhaps Solomon walked often, making these casual observations when something struck him, like a fire pit and had to write, "As charcoal to hot embers and wood to fire, so is a quarrelsome man for kindling strife", Proverbs 26.21.

He heard, observed, and maybe even touched everything and heard, observed, and touched God, not because God was in the fire he noticed. Do you know, sometimes I entertain the thought: I'm sure that they who wrote the books of the Bible were not always aware that they were directly inspired. I don't imagine that, when they were inspired, they glowed likes the Avatars of the Bending World (see: Nickelodean's The Last Airbender or Legend of Korra), nothing like that- I'm sure they knew when words greater than themselves possessed them (although it would be cool if they did glow, ha) but what if God, when using Solomon, when using Abraham, or Moses, or Isaiah, or Paul, or John- what if these men did not know they were being used till after the fact?

I don't know.

Speaking nonsense, again, I know.

No, don't ask me about Isaiah, yet. Ha, I'll let you know when I get there.





On another note!- I am not an excellent reader. I pick up all these books and do not know how to finish them because I've not yet disciplined my mind to maintain peace during reading. I will read a sentence, obsess over it for a day or more (usually more) and wonder how to apply it.

Fiction, non-fiction- I don't know what it is about them that their words can't make me still. I'm jealous of those who can read for hours and hours without moving. I want to be able to do that because, unfortunately, I like to do other things while I read. I always have a pen or pencil in my hand, and a few semi-transparent sticky flags to mark something..

So, thanks be to God that my parents bought the audio series of The Chronicles of Narnia! The other day, do listen, it's frightfully funny, I was listening to The Last Battle when I finally got to the, well, second-to-last battle of the book: when Emeth wants to see Tash, when Eustace is thrown into the darkened shed; I start crying! And I'm driving while I'm listening and crying, which isn't at all safe for me and my fellow drivers, but I'm crying, salty tears stinging my cheeks, blurring my vision which is already impaired by the glow of the setting sun. By Aslan's Mane, I'm surprised I didn't crash. (Haha.)

No, I can't even blame my monthly friend for such emotional tirades.

But when Eustace was thrown in!- I absolutely fell apart! What terror he must've felt! Now, I knew what was on the other side of that door (only because I've read/heard the books over and over again)- perhaps I cried so because I was living in the story as though I'd never read or heard The Last Battle; that in spite of my foreknowledge of its 'ending' (I say 'ending' because you very well know that Lewis only describes the end of Narnia, indeed of all worlds, as the beginning of Chapter One of the Great Story) I wholeheartedly empathized with Eustace. Felt Jill's pain at her loss. Wept with King Tirian.

Now, if only I could weep, feel and empathize so with the people in this world without casually wanting the high and mighty feeling of helping their souls, but never acting upon that high.




This just occurred to me: do you think that if we just let children read the Bible, just as a story, they would later see it as inspired? Do we really need to say it's inspired? Now, don't mistake me: I'm not saying that the Bible isn't inspired, nor am I saying that we should not bring up children in the faith, but, I am saying that, perhaps, the things we emphasize now as important are later diminished as irrelevant because we emphasize the wrong part. When the word 'inspired' is said, we sometimes harp upon the word 'inspire' instead of harping upon what the inspiration actually entails to the Bible's past, present, and future readers.

But this is too much for a blog post.




On another note, a much lighter one, too: I do believe that I can trust Cumberbatch with any beloved character he so chooses to play.

'The Paper Bag Princess' a Modern (?) Take on the Classic Fairy Tale

I am not a hardcore feminist. Frankly, I'm not a hardcore anything! I know, it's my fault that I'm not a hardcore anything, and as for the blatant disregard of feminism's constructs: that's my fault. I haven't delved into its politics or agenda. For that, I know I must apologize because there are so many things of which I should be 'hardcore' and am not. I am really, really sorry.

So then, why, suddenly, am I approaching the topic of feminism?  Because I think that every modern woman (and just being born in the past two centuries is license enough to be considered 'modern') is a feminist whether or not she would label herself as such. I am of the latter group, only to realize that the former has been beckoning to me for some time now.

Last night I was at work, and I sat down to take a little break since there were no customers around, when I spotted this book I'd never before seen: The Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch; illustrated by Michael Martchenko.

What makes her a paper bag princess?, I thought. I had to read it with that question on my mind! Allow me to read it to you, or, at the very least, explain it to you. (What you're about to read next is a simplistic retelling of an already beautifully simple story.)

We meet Elizabeth and Ronald.

I don't even have to hear Ronald speak before I know that I already won't like him. He looks like a snooty little thing, and poor Elizabeth just oogling over this snooty little man. But who am I to dash a little girl's dream of marriage? Anyway, Elizabeth is convinced she is going to marry Ronald, and Ronald's all: "Cool." (He probably says so with a snooty accent, I mean, look at that racket he's holding! All snooty people hold rackets.)

But then a dragon comes by, eats the castle, and burns everything up, including all her clothes and kidnaps poor, snooty Ronald! Snooty as he is, no one should ever be kidnapped by a dragon. That is a fate I would not wish upon my worst enemies...had I any.

Elizabeth, however, finds the courage to find that mean old dragon and save her Ronald! Hey, "Hell hath no fury like a woman [denied]', right?! But she can't go streaking, and it wouldn't be very wise to fight a dragon nude, but the only thing she can find that isn't burnt is a paper bag. Ah, well! What are clothes for if only to cover up the body and protect it, ah?

The dragon is easy enough to follow for he leaves a trail of burnt forests, and horses' bones. What luck!

Elizabeth's first attempt to enter the dragon's lair is denied, but on her second try she compliments the dragon. She gets him to show off.

He burns down fifty forests, then one hundred, then, on the third try, is all out of fire! Then Elizabeth asks him to fly around the world as quickly as he can, which is ten seconds on the first try, and twenty on the second try. The dragon comes back so tired that he faints and sleeps.

Elizabeth has saved the day! Yeah! She can get her Ronald back! Whoo!

But Ronald...

' [Ronald] looked at [Princess Elizabeth] and said, "Elizabeth, you are a mess! You smell like ashes your hair is all tangled and you are wearing a dirty old paper bag. Come back when you are dressed like a real princess." '

Now, I almost went kung-fu on his snooty little racket, when ' "Ronald," said Elizabeth, "your clothes are really pretty and your hair is very neat. You look like a real prince, but you are a bum." / They didn't get married after all. '

At this point, I am laughing so hard I can barely contain myself, but I have to as customers began to appear. "You are a bum" echoed through my mind the rest of the night, a smile plastered onto my face.

I'm not suggesting that Munsch or, the illustrator, Martchenko, are feminists, I can't even be sure that this is the main theme for this story, but I do know that they intended to pull away from the stigma of classic fairy tale literature: the prince saves the princess and, as a reward, marries her.

I don't negate marriage. I don't negate relationships in general (but who am I to speak, I've never had a relationship). I don't believe this book does either, but I do believe that this horribly wonderful children's story humorously and pointedly explains that if the dude is a prissy jerk, you better dump that bum! Especially after you just saved him and his snooty little racket from a castle-eating dragon!

This might not be very feminist of me, but the story, I think, could go both ways. If Elizabeth and Ronald switched places; if Ronald were the nice once, and Elizabeth were prissy, Ronald you better leave her bum, or she go'n whip you like cattle.

Perhaps that's why I've never been a 'hardcore' feminist: I already think everyone needs to be treated equally, that anyone regardless of gender, social class, culture, etc., deserves respect, for not only are we proud that Elizabeth has taken away the hand of marriage from Ronald, we hope, or, at the very least, I hope, Ronald will one day turn around and turn out to be a gentleman for another princess.

warning: this next quotation will have swearing.

"The truth is I love fashion, and I'm always asked to reconcile my feminism with that. But I don't think the two are mutually exclusive. In fact, I think that fashion is an incredibly powerful means of expressing your political views. As women, our bodies are objectified. If we use our bodies to flip the power dynamic by placing our political views across our tits, we can be damn sure people will pay attention. / The first T-shirt I made was for me. It boasted 'The Only Bush I Trust Is My Own,' the title of a book I was working on, and people went totally wild for it. People kept asking me to make shirts. It was pretty amazing to see people galvanized by this idea. Of course, it's not enough to just wear them, you have to walk the walk, you know? But wearing them is a great first step." -Periel Aschenbrand, from Kenneth Cole's Awearness

 Now, personally, I don't believe that's how I'd like to showcase my political views--that style is no where near my personality, but Aschenbrand's right: 'you have to walk the walk' with anything you believe.

James 2.14-26: What does it profit, my brethren, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can faith save him? If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you says to them, “Depart in peace, be warmed and filled,” but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit? Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.” Show me your faith without your works, and I will show you my faith by my works. You believe that there is one God. You do well. Even the demons believe—and tremble! But do you want to know, O foolish man, that faith without works is dead? Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered Isaac his son on the altar? Do you see that faith was working together with his works, and by works faith was made perfect? And the Scripture was fulfilled which says, “Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness.”And he was called the friend of God. You see then that a man is justified by works, and not by faith only.Likewise, was not Rahab the harlot also justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out another way?For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.

From Ideas to Stories

Lately, I've been thinking a lot of ideas. A lot.

A few weeks ago, July 4th actually, I was with friends out in Chelsea, and jotted this down on my iPhone: "I like thinking many ideas, but I don't know that I'd put many of them into practice, or sincerely believe in those thoughts/ideas. I think of too many [ideas] to indiscriminately accept all of them [as Truth]."

So, I've had all these ideas, but I've yet to bring them to light. Mostly because I don't know how to bring them to light. My ideas are incomplete, and the only way to make them complete, or somewhere near completion, I would have to write them down, or speak them aloud. I hate doing that. I hate speaking before I'm really sure of what I mean; what I really believe.

Of what have I been thinking?

For starters, beginning sentences with prepositions is a great grammar-release!

Okay, okay, okay.

My thoughts have generally leaned towards the state of humanity.

"Oh, how perfectly vague."

"I know."

But if I become any more specific I promise you, I will go back to the state of humanity, which I am sure, as we all observe, is in a constant state of flux and discontent. Those who are content are so because they know what it is to be discontent.

Hello, Humanity. I'm glad to greet you like an old friend.

But since I don't want to overthink, or rethink, or drag on for too long, I've decided it best to illustrate any ideas or thoughts I have with stories. I don't know why it took me so long to acknowledge this. Every other author and writer has!

Whatever made me think I was better at writing essays than writing vignettes or extended metaphors?

Of all that I've thought this past month I am confident in that idea: that the best way to portray the 'state of humanity' is to illustrate it. To gather up its many images, smells, tastes, words, and feelings, not into some neat little box and leave it there, but for the neat little box to be opened!

Like Pandora's box! But without all the sickness and sin, and horrible things--they're already in the world. Ooh, we don't need more of that.

I know that we learn from our mistakes both in and out of our control, but that does not make me wish bad times upon even the worst of my enemies, and even then, I have no enemies. I live life as though all were friends: yes, it is denial, and yet confirmation that these friends, like my thoughts, though I entertain them, are no less real, or lost, or hungry, or wishful, than I am.

I may not re-open Pandora's Box, but I'll label it for you.

Blind Spot: I'm a Coward.

I have this horrible fear of being greatly disliked by people I admire: celebrity or non-celebrity; friend or enemy, I am probably terrified of disappointing you. 

We've talked and talked and talked, getting to know each other pretty well, when suddenly we come to a slight disagreement, or a hot topic, or a minor offense and I will probably back down faster than a squirrel underneath a car wheel. Unless the disagreement/topic/offense concerns anything literary, I'll probably go down fighting you, but morally or politically, I am pretty wishy-washy. 

No, I don't sleep around or go around murdering people, but I will think so hard about what my opinion should be that I won't allow myself to make one.

I tinker. I don't complete.

Last night I discovered how self-conscious I am about the ideas I entertain. I don't really like sharing them because, frankly, ideas/beliefs, really shouldn't be as fickle as this: a young woman's heart. I have no problem sharing my emotions--everyone knows those are pretty fickle, due to a liberal amount of hormones--but ideas!- ideas are supposed to be stronger! Ideas are supposed to be solid! Ideas are supposed to be firmer; supposed to uphold the fickle emotions, which would explain why I often qualify any verbalized belief with: "Not that I've really this through-. This is an undeveloped opinion but..."

Strike you as confident, because it doesn't strike me as confident.

Sometimes I'm so afraid to be right. When am I right? The people I admire would even admit that they aren't right all the time, so how could I ever say that I'm right?! I'm sure behind every 'right' statement is a blind spot. I must be missing something I have yet to think through. I'll have to take a few more days to develop my ideas. My beliefs.

But then I never get around to developing them.

I'm spineless. I'm afraid to have an opinion. 

I blog; have Facebook and am afraid to have an opinion. 

I'm not looking for the perfect idea. In fact, I get frustrated when someone's a know-it-all. Besides, who likes know-it-alls?! No one, that's who.

But, I guess, kind of like walking, I got'a crawl and trip a few times before I can really keep a steady pace. I might have to jog, might have to run, might have to stop altogether; but really. It's all about developing. Really, it's all about wanting to continue developing. 

Ah, I can't be afraid to share my ideas/beliefs with you.

God did not make me to be a coward! 

Maybe not always Live. Laugh. Love. but sometimes Bolder. Kinder.

It takes guts to be bold and kind. Anyone can be bold. Pray that I might also be kind.